But my phone stayed mute.
Waldo clears his throat. “Throughout your impressive rant, you didn’t utter a single word about Kennedy’s perspective. Have you given any thought at all about what she may be feeling right now?”
Petulantly, I snort. “No.”
I’ve been too busy being pissed off to analyze how she might feel about me being pissed off.
He nods. “Let’s examine that. Kennedy is the one who was attacked and injured. She’s the one who opened herself up to you when you fought so hard to regain her trust. The one who believed you when you professed your love. The one who watched you walk away when faced with your first challenge as a couple. How do you think she feels about all that, Brent?” His fingers thrum against the arm of the chair. “Afraid? Hurt? Devastated?”
Guilt trips from a seasoned therapist are a hard thing to resist, but I manage.
“She wouldn’t feel any of that if she’d just do what I fucking tell her.”
His lips hint at a smile, but not the good kind. He reminds me of Jasper, when he’s got his mousey toy trapped between his claws—and he’s about to screw with it. “But relationships don’t work that way. You know this. Kennedy needs your support, not your direction.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he talks right over me.
“Let’s not waste our time here. How about you try being honest—and tell me what you’re really feeling.”
I rub at the frustration knotting the back of my neck. “Are you kidding, or just blind? I’m angry, Captain Obvious.”
His gaze is steady and calm. Knowing. It’s fucking annoying.
“You don’t look angry to me. You look terrified. What are you actually afraid of, Brent?”
I throw my hands out. “I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt!”
“That she’s going to be hurt, or that you won’t be able to prevent her from being hurt?”
I almost laugh. “Is there a goddamn difference?”
“Yes. One involves your concern for her. The other revolves only around yourself. The fear that you’ll fail her. That you won’t be able to protect her.”
The truth is a relentless, ugly little beast. It scratches and gnaws, driving you crazy—until you let it out.
“I didn’t protect her before, did I?”
I think about the night of the senior dance, Kennedy’s face—muddy and bleeding. I think about years of poisonous taunts and hissed insults, which can break a soul as easily as sticks and stones break bone. “I left her to the wolves, and they had a feast. That’s not going to happen again. No fucking way. I’m trying to protect her this time.”
He nods. “You failed her before because you were selfish. An adolescent, thinking only of yourself.”
“I know that!”
He spreads his arms—the big reveal. “And yet here you are—repeating yourself. Thinking of your wants. Your feelings. Like an irritable teenager all over again.”
“I’m thirty-two years old—I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake!”
He leans forward in his chair. “Yes, you are. And for the last few weeks, you’ve been acting like one. So it’s disappointing to see you regress overnight.”
My teeth grind, and I jab a finger toward him. “You know something? Fuck you, Waldo.”
Then I walk out his door too.
• • •
After that disaster, I go to the office, still pissed. Actually, more pissed, because he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. Doesn’t see my perfectly rational point that tucking Kennedy safely away in my house, in my bed—is the best, the only acceptable course of action. There are women who’d sell their soul to live in my gilded cage. But I don’t want any of them.
As I stand in front of my desk, shuffling papers and banging drawers, Jake steps through the doorway.
“As far as temper tantrums go, yours is pretty pathetic. You should talk to Regan—she can give you some pointers.”
“Fuck off, man.” I don’t even look up.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Can’t do that, buddy. You’re screwing up way too badly for me to just sit back and watch.”
I slam my top drawer shut with a bang, then point at him. “Give me a motherfucking break! Like you’d be any different if it was Chelsea? How would you react if it was her walking into the lion’s den?”
Jake’s voice is low and lethally calm. “Chelsea can walk into any damn den she wants. Because I am the lion. And I’d make sure I was with her.”
I breathe hard as he comes to stand in front of my desk.
“Your problem is you underestimated her. You threw down a marker you never intended to pay, and she called your fucking bluff. She’s going, Brent—nothing you say is gonna stop her. So the only question left is, what are you going to do now?”
Then Sofia walks into the room. “Hey . . . guys? I think—”
I immediately cut her off. “Et tu, Sofia? Not now, okay?”
“I know, but listen—”
“Contrary to what you all think, I’m a big boy. This is between me and Kennedy. We’ll work it out, and I don’t—”
“My water broke.”
There are few words in the English language that are capable of grabbing immediate and undivided attention. Fire is one. Bingo is pretty high on the list. I’m going to come is my personal favorite. But, much like the One Ring, my water broke rules them all.
Waldo clears his throat. “Throughout your impressive rant, you didn’t utter a single word about Kennedy’s perspective. Have you given any thought at all about what she may be feeling right now?”
Petulantly, I snort. “No.”
I’ve been too busy being pissed off to analyze how she might feel about me being pissed off.
He nods. “Let’s examine that. Kennedy is the one who was attacked and injured. She’s the one who opened herself up to you when you fought so hard to regain her trust. The one who believed you when you professed your love. The one who watched you walk away when faced with your first challenge as a couple. How do you think she feels about all that, Brent?” His fingers thrum against the arm of the chair. “Afraid? Hurt? Devastated?”
Guilt trips from a seasoned therapist are a hard thing to resist, but I manage.
“She wouldn’t feel any of that if she’d just do what I fucking tell her.”
His lips hint at a smile, but not the good kind. He reminds me of Jasper, when he’s got his mousey toy trapped between his claws—and he’s about to screw with it. “But relationships don’t work that way. You know this. Kennedy needs your support, not your direction.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he talks right over me.
“Let’s not waste our time here. How about you try being honest—and tell me what you’re really feeling.”
I rub at the frustration knotting the back of my neck. “Are you kidding, or just blind? I’m angry, Captain Obvious.”
His gaze is steady and calm. Knowing. It’s fucking annoying.
“You don’t look angry to me. You look terrified. What are you actually afraid of, Brent?”
I throw my hands out. “I’m afraid she’s going to get hurt!”
“That she’s going to be hurt, or that you won’t be able to prevent her from being hurt?”
I almost laugh. “Is there a goddamn difference?”
“Yes. One involves your concern for her. The other revolves only around yourself. The fear that you’ll fail her. That you won’t be able to protect her.”
The truth is a relentless, ugly little beast. It scratches and gnaws, driving you crazy—until you let it out.
“I didn’t protect her before, did I?”
I think about the night of the senior dance, Kennedy’s face—muddy and bleeding. I think about years of poisonous taunts and hissed insults, which can break a soul as easily as sticks and stones break bone. “I left her to the wolves, and they had a feast. That’s not going to happen again. No fucking way. I’m trying to protect her this time.”
He nods. “You failed her before because you were selfish. An adolescent, thinking only of yourself.”
“I know that!”
He spreads his arms—the big reveal. “And yet here you are—repeating yourself. Thinking of your wants. Your feelings. Like an irritable teenager all over again.”
“I’m thirty-two years old—I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake!”
He leans forward in his chair. “Yes, you are. And for the last few weeks, you’ve been acting like one. So it’s disappointing to see you regress overnight.”
My teeth grind, and I jab a finger toward him. “You know something? Fuck you, Waldo.”
Then I walk out his door too.
• • •
After that disaster, I go to the office, still pissed. Actually, more pissed, because he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. Doesn’t see my perfectly rational point that tucking Kennedy safely away in my house, in my bed—is the best, the only acceptable course of action. There are women who’d sell their soul to live in my gilded cage. But I don’t want any of them.
As I stand in front of my desk, shuffling papers and banging drawers, Jake steps through the doorway.
“As far as temper tantrums go, yours is pretty pathetic. You should talk to Regan—she can give you some pointers.”
“Fuck off, man.” I don’t even look up.
He folds his arms across his chest. “Can’t do that, buddy. You’re screwing up way too badly for me to just sit back and watch.”
I slam my top drawer shut with a bang, then point at him. “Give me a motherfucking break! Like you’d be any different if it was Chelsea? How would you react if it was her walking into the lion’s den?”
Jake’s voice is low and lethally calm. “Chelsea can walk into any damn den she wants. Because I am the lion. And I’d make sure I was with her.”
I breathe hard as he comes to stand in front of my desk.
“Your problem is you underestimated her. You threw down a marker you never intended to pay, and she called your fucking bluff. She’s going, Brent—nothing you say is gonna stop her. So the only question left is, what are you going to do now?”
Then Sofia walks into the room. “Hey . . . guys? I think—”
I immediately cut her off. “Et tu, Sofia? Not now, okay?”
“I know, but listen—”
“Contrary to what you all think, I’m a big boy. This is between me and Kennedy. We’ll work it out, and I don’t—”
“My water broke.”
There are few words in the English language that are capable of grabbing immediate and undivided attention. Fire is one. Bingo is pretty high on the list. I’m going to come is my personal favorite. But, much like the One Ring, my water broke rules them all.
